


Things That Scare Me

by DeepRedBells



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angel/Demon Relationship, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale's Bookshop (Good Omens), Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Break Up, Caring Aziraphale (Good Omens), Christianity, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), Developing Relationship, Djinni & Genies, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flirting, Heaven & Hell, Hurt/Comfort, Islam, Jewish Character, M/M, Male Slash, Minor Original Character(s), Mythical Beings & Creatures, Mythology References, Oblivious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Protective Crowley, Sex, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:28:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27155929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeepRedBells/pseuds/DeepRedBells
Summary: This takes place three days after the end of the world. Crowley and Aziraphale get an offer they can't refuse from their very own ethereal lawyer. They have to do several tasks to get back into heaven or hell, with the option to switch sides entirely if they desire. Heaven and Hell have made it difficult for them to get the job done.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 13





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic in the Good Omens universe. I have a DS9 one as well with my sister Ms_prawo_jazdy.

Aziraphale shifted uncomfortably in this favorite chair, which was odd, as it was a chair he specifically favored for its comfort. It had been a few days since Heaven had tossed out an Aziraphale-disguised Crowley, and they had both been anxiously waiting for what would come next. But everything was oddly quiet on that front so far. The bookshop still remained and life had returned to a baseline normal. The shop was quiet, as it almost always was. The city buzzed just outside the door. Actually, the street noise was quite loud. Louder than he had ever heard it before. It practically sounded like motor cars were screaming through Fiction and straight through the back wall into Botany and other life sciences. Aziraphale covered his ears and only then realized what was happening. 

Heaven never really forgets or turns a blind eye when it comes to one of its former inhabitants. It’s part of the ‘all-seeing’ description in God’s job description. Three days after their little scheme seemingly freed them both from an eternity of participating in the struggle between good and evil, it was gone. The heavenly choir. The low hum of constant light and love that connected Aziraphale to all living things past, present, and future via the heavenly plane which filled his mind and heart with endless ethereal song...was suddenly silent. 

He jumped out of his chair. Aziraphale had never really been alone before. Not really, truly alone. Oh sure, he had been by himself plenty of times and even preferred it but, alone? This level of alone? It was horrifying. He began pacing the shop, stalking from section to section. Maybe, it was just this particular spot in the shop that was acoustically favoring the street noise over the eternal heavenly hum after over 200 years for some reason. But no matter where he went, he couldn’t escape the silence in his mind and the noise of humanity. It was so heartbreaking that it was almost physically painful. It wasn’t just a piece of him, it was his core that was missing. His eyes filled with tears. Abandoned. Cast out. Oh no, he thought for a panicked moment, Fallen? Could angels still fall? He thought the whole thing had been done with now for ages now. He felt panic creeping in, but rushing around like a chicken missing its head wasn’t going to do any good. He did the only thing he could think of. He rang Crowley. 

“It’s gone, Crowley, it’s gone,” Aziraphale sputtered out. 

“What is?” Crowley asked in his usual annoyed tone of voice. 

“Please come. Can you come over right now?” 

“Why? Aziraphale...what’s wrong?”

“They’ve...my side has…” Aziraphale wasn’t sure if Crowley would know what was wrong even if he described it to him. But he had been an angel. He had to know about this. Either way, all he had to do is mention Heaven, and Crowley knew it was serious. 

“I’ll be right there.”

It seemed to take an eternity, but the roar of Crowley’s huge black Bentley eventually filled the bookshop. Aziraphale sat despondently on the floor. Nothing was comfortable. All of his large, lovely overstuffed chairs seemed to mock him, so he pulled his knees under his chin and waited resting against Biographies and waited for the roar of the engine to finally cease. The bell on the front door seemed like to echo doom as Crowley entered. He immediately turned around and flipped the ‘Open’ sign to ‘Closed’ behind him and locked the front door. 

“Aziraphale?...” He called out. His voice bounced around Aziraphale’s all-too-quiet skull like a child full of too much candy wielding a baseball bat in a crystal shop. 

“Crowley. Not so loud,” Aziraphale whispered through gritted teeth. Crowley spotted his friend and immediately took off his sunglasses in surprise. His yellow eyes focused and refocused on Aziraphale in the dim light. 

“Loud? What is it? What’s happened to you?” Crowley said, bringing his voice down to a whisper as he knelt in front of Aziraphale. 

“Crowley...they’ve...I’ve been cut off.” 

“Cut off? What do you mean?”

“From the constant presence of heaven’s perfect love. From the choir of the Seraphim singing God’s praises most high…”

“Oh, those brown-nosers...” 

“I...what am I now if I’m not…” Aziraphale had tears in his eyes as he grabbed Crowley’s lapels and pulled him close. “What am I meant to do?”

“Aziraphale...all I can tell you is that you will get used to it, I’m afraid,” Crowley gently unclenched Aziraphale’s hands from around his favorite jacket and held them for a moment, squeezing tightly. “I’m sorry, I really am. You know, I remember when-”

“When you fell!” Aziraphale jumped up, aghast, pulling his hands away from Crowley’s. “But I didn’t fall! I mean, I didn’t mean to,” Aziraphale was attempting to speak to God, but all he was really doing was shouting at the light fixtures. 

“That’s what I’ve been saying for ages! Just thinking for yourself and they’re done with you like that,” he snapped his fingers. 

“This is my punishment. Awful, unending silence and abandonment,” the tears were definitely coming now. He covered his mouth and let out a sob. Aziraphale couldn’t remember feeling despair ever, at all, in his whole existence. But this was definitely despair now. What else could it be?

Crowley remained on the floor and hung his head. He knew, indeed, what Aziraphale was going through. He had suffered similarly, as did all demons and Hell’s agents after the fall. It was a separation that tore at the inside of every one of them, a wound that would never really close. A special hell on top of all the fun that was regular hell. The thought that he might be behind Aziraphale’s fall...Well, we all make our own decisions, he thought. A justification he used many times with humans. He was a temptation demon, after all. He couldn’t help what he was, but Aziraphale’s tears had produced a new emotion in Crowley as well: guilt. 

“Wait a minute…” Crowley said, surprised at his own reaction. Guilt? 

“I can’t wait. I have to get back. I have to get back to her. I’m not like you, Crowley, I’m not brave enough to be alone.”

“Brave?” Crowley said. He slipped his sunglasses back on to hide the pain in his own face. “What else am I meant to do but carry on? Anyway, you’re better off without that lot. Drive loud cars, listen to loud music, do whatever you have to to keep your mind off of...things.” He turned to see Aziraphale with his eyes closed, tears streaming down his face and his hands tented in prayer. 

“Oh hell, what are you doing?” Crowley asked in disgust. “Have some pride.”

“I don’t have any pride. I’m not prideful. I swear, I’m not,” Aziraphale was still speaking to the ceiling with his eyes closed. 

“She won’t listen, believe me,” he sneered as he sprung up from the floor. “She doesn’t listen to them when they do that either, you know. Of course, you know, you just refuse to see it. Open your bloody eyes!” He forced Aziraphale’s hands apart. Aziraphale finally looked at him, surprised. There they were, still unsettlingly beautiful and still filled with clear otherworldly shine. Crowley ached to see tears in them. He reached up and held Aziraphale’s face for a moment, drying the tears on his cheeks with his thumb.

“You don’t look like a demon,” he said with a smile. They stayed like that for a moment before Crowley shook himself out of it. He dropped his hands away and stepped back. “I mean, you at least don’t look like me.”

“I rather...like the way you look, Crowley,” Aziraphel said quietly. 

“Really?” Crowley said, his response dripping with sarcasm. 

“Well, I mean, you have such pretty eyes….for a snake.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Crowley said, slipping his hands into his pockets.

“It was meant as one,” Aziraphel mumbled. 

“Maybe some lunch will take your mind off of things?” 

“It’s 10 in the morning,” Aziraphel said wearily. 

“Yeah but, ya know, a great man once said time is an illusion--lunchtime doubly so. Anyway, it’s really the only course of action at the moment soooooo...” 

Crowley led the way through the buzzing streets of central London. Every human they encountered was a mystery to Aziraphale now. He used to get a charge from interacting with God’s creation. He could sense their emotions and thoughts and would skip through a crowd of humans performing quick cheer-ups and small miracles on those who needed it most. Now everything inside him was muted while outside was unbearable. The sun shone too bright, even on this cloudy day. The crowd’s chattering washed over him and the smell of the traffic made his throat close. Aziraphale had to stop several times and sit down just to get his head straight. It was completely disorienting. And each time he did, Crowley looked absolutely miserable. Aziraphale worried he was being a nuisance but really it was much worse. Crowley was experiencing his own dramatic internal shift, but he didn’t know how to express it, or even what it was. His feelings were more numerous and intense than ever before, practically overwhelming. Crowley stayed silent each time he sat, and even rubbed Aziraphel’s shoulder for a few moments. If he hadn’t been so overwhelmed, Aziraphale may have noticed the small moments of empathy, real empathy, from his demon friend. It all felt wrong but he had an overwhelming need to care for him. After several starts and stops, they made it to a quiet table in the back of Gymkhana, his favorite Indian restaurant. 

“Oh thank goodness,” Aziraphale mumbled as he collapsed in his seat. He turned to the waiter and ordered his traditional extra spicy lamb curry and tea in perfect Hindi. Crowley could feel a stupid question formenting in his throat, something unbelievably stupid and unlike him, like ‘are you alright.’ He also ordered a tea so he’d have something to stick in his face. He really missed smoking in restaurants. If he ever met the demon that made cigarettes cancer-causing to humans... But he didn’t have time to ask his stupid question, as a woman in gray suddenly materializied in the empty chair next to Crowley. She had a tight bun of black hair and black skin that seemed to glow even under the dim lights of the restaurant. 

“Now,” she announced in a velvet voice that rang like a small gong through each other their corporal forms. 

“Ahhh!” they both shouted in surprise. Aziraphel jumped up from the table, grabbing where his heart would be beating out of his chest, if he had one. Crowlely immediately recognized the mysterious woman. 

“Heylel!” 

“...Crowley! Well fancy that, you’re my 1 o’clock. You two just saved me a whole meeting,” She folded her hands on the table.

“Who...who are you? Please, oh...I’ve had enough surprises for today,” Aziraphel refused to sit down. 

“Pleasure to meet you Aziraphale. I’m Heylel, your lawyer.” 

“My what?”

“Well, I’m also his lawyer,” she thrust a thumb towards Crowley. 

“What?” Crowley asked. 

“You two didn’t think you could circumvent the wills of Hell and Heaven, escape execution and get away with it, did you?”

“I mean…” Crowley shrugged. “Who are we...really...in the grander ...scheme of things.”

“Well then,” she laughed, putting a black leather briefcase on the table. “That’s precious.” 

“Heylel? Doesn’t that mean you are…”

“Yes, Aziraphale I am the one known in Herbrew as ‘the adversary’ but make no mistake, I’m also fairly well tolerated in Heaven. My role is to sit in the middle of the infernal and ethereal and judicate on your behalfs.” The waiters soon returned, with three teas and Aziraphel’s lunch. Heylel looked surprised at the food but nodded her thanks to the humans who brought it. 

“Aziraphale, Crowley, do you mind doing a joint meeting? It makes sense since you are co-defendants. He’s going to get very similar options as you,” she asked, Aziraphale nodded and finally sat down. “I assume you both have noticed some changes as of this morning, yes?” 

“I have,” Aziraphale looked down. 

“Crowley?”

“Ahhhhh. Yes, yes if you must know,” he answered, exasperated. Aziraphale looked up in surprise. He realized he had been simply selfish all morning. He finally sat, looking concerned at Crowley. 

“An increase in empathy, emotional awareness and connection?” Heylel asked.

“...listen, great seeing you. But let’s actually do this another time, love…”

“Now, now. No secrets here,” she snapped open the briefcase and pulled out two scrolls. “And Aziraphale, cut off from your heavenly commune,” she moved his curry aside to roll the scrolls out. Each were etched in fiery herbrew script that blazed with an unearthly light “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“What the…?” Crowley asked, pulling up the scroll his ancient name blazed across. He took his tea and poured out the flames, leaving only smoking, blackened text. “Are these job listings?”

“Two points for you Crowley. You are each being given a rare opportunity to earn your way back into the good graces of your masters. You two are actually a little like me right now and a little bit like humans. You’re in between, indeterminate, and where you end up is entirely up to you. By completing some of these tasks, you will be welcomed by whichever side you decide to serve.”

“Really? I can return to Heaven. Ohhh, oh thank god,” Aziraphale picked up his scroll and clutched it to his chest. “Let’s see uh...guardian angel...werewolf hunter? Um...hmm,” Aziraphale scanned the list, his disappointed face alive with the light of the scrawling text. He was determined to do whatever it took, but these were definitely not his style. They were certainly rather beneath his station. Former station, whatever it was. 

“And what, if I say bollocks to all of it,” Crowley said with a smirk, dropping his damp scroll on the table. “I don’t want to be a part of either side and that they all make me sick.” 

“I wouldn’t be so quick to do that Crowley. Without the power of one of these forces you risk fading, in spirit and form. You could become a sprite or even a shade unable to interact with the physical world but still conscious of it. Worse than a ghost until you just...cease to be. It’s not pretty.” 

“Any..appeals possible? Do us a favor, would you Heylel?” 

“You’re already being given a chance no other fallen angel has ever received. This is the appeal,” she said quietly with a smile. Crowley screwed up his face, annoyed. 

“JESUS CHRIST!” Aziraphale shouted, jumping up from his meal. He hadn’t connected that his corporal taste had also become quite heightened, and that he was just now feeling the true full effect of lamb curry extra spicy for the first time in his existence. His whole face was aflame. He stuffed his mouth with naan bread while his eyes filled with tears. 

“Silly angel,” Crowley sighed. He snapped his fingers and the heat immediately dissipated from his mouth. 

“Omph,” Aziraphale said through a mouth filled with bread. “Thanf you.”

“We’ll give you that one, but you will want to limit your use of miracles as well, especially if you plan to drag your feet, Crowley,” She handed Crowley a black Smartphone. “This mobile has everything you need, and is connected to me, so give me a call anytime. I’ll also be able to send you updates. I’m the only entity with access to this device. One for you two Aziraphale,” she put a white phone face down on the table. 

“I already know what position I’d like to try,” Aziraphale said, sitting down again and picking up his scroll. Crowly looked up surprised.

“Aziraphale, my goodness you are eager to get on with it,” she said. 

“Yes, I’d very much like to rejoin heaven. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

“Well, hustle will work in your favor. What listing are you thinking of starting with?”

“Werewolf hunter.”

“Hahaha. Go on then. And here I thought Crowley was the cut up. Seriously though,” her laughter rang through Aziraphale. 

“I’m serious,” he said, a little more defensively than he meant to. “The Almighty needs to return her creations to full purity and I’m just the smiting arm to do it.” 

“You. Smite something?” Crowley asked. “You?”

“Oh, well...Aziraphale, ok. You’re right. I’m just here to advise you. Are you bringing this one along?” she cocked her head towards Crowely.

“Is he...allowed?” 

“Actually, you two are encouraged to work together. If you were to help him, and he you, Heaven would look well on both of you; you not only would complete these tasks but you’d help save a fallen angel and heaven will have won a soldier back from the darkness,” Crowley’s eyes rolled at that line. She pursed her lips and continued. “Though should Crowley choose to return his side well, it would probably be better if you don’t spend time together anymore.” 

“Ah. Well, getting back to heaven is my top priority.” 

“Thanks,” Crowley said flatly. His options seemed to be: rejoin heaven, lose Aziraphale or die horribly and eternally. “This must be what that ‘choice’ God pats herself on the back for giving humans actually feels like.” Aziraphale and Heylel traded disapproving glances. 

“Oh goodness, where is my head? Hold on,” she opened up her suitcase and pulled out a huge crossbow carved out of glimmering white wood and a quiver of silver-tipped arrows. She set it down roughly on the table “You’ll need these. The quiver should never run out of arrows, so you’re good there.” For a moment he wondered if he had bitten off more than he could chew. 

“Uhhh so these werewolves, where did they come from? Are they demons?”

“Oh, no. It was a plan by an angel in the 1630s who thought it would be a good idea to unleash werewolves to fight demons and witches,” she threw up her hands and rolled her eyes. “Guess what, it didn’t work! It started with a man known as Theiss of Kaltenbrun and spread from there. Another sort of in-between lot that needs moving to one side.”

“No problem!” Aziraphale responded cheerfully. “Werewolves will be removed. You can count on us? Well, me, at least.”

Haylel slowly faded away after shaking their hands. The morning had definitely not gone as planned. Aziraphale pushed the extra spicy curry away, lest he be tempted to try it again and miracled the crossbow back to the bookshop. Crowley was hunched over his scroll, tapping the table in annoyance. Aziraphale’s own scroll smouldered nearby. For the first time that day, he felt a little hopeful. 

“Crowley...does this mean...”

“What?”

“That you might...work towards rejoining Heaven?”

“Oh, come off it. Really?”

“Yes really. I know you’re still good deep down and, wouldn’t it be wonderful if we could go to the same place…” Aziraphale said, excitedly grabbing Crowley’s hand in his. “Work for the same side for once. Instead of always being at odds with one another.” Crowley looked down at their hands and was quickly overwhelmed with something...he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. It was a warm, gnawing sensation that traveled from the pit of his stomach and into his chest. A fluttering, tiny thing like a moth trapped in between your palms. He wanted to snatch his hand away, but it was all too...wonderful. 

“Crowley?”

“Uhhhh, how about we get you back to the shop,” he managed to say, his voice cracking before he could cover his mouth. 

“Oh, I’m sorry Crowley. I forgot you’re having more emotions than normal. I know how you’re feeling. She can be quite moving, in her mercy.”

“You can be so, so absolutely bloody stupid sometimes,” he threw his head back and willed the tears away. 

“Come on, let’s get out of here. We’ll do it together, yes?” 

“Alright.”

On the way back it was Crowley’s turn to cling to Aziraphale like a drunk. He used to be able to skip through a crowd and offer temptations and little nagging doubts to every human with a wandering eye and a taste for sin. But everything was suddenly so heart-achingly beautiful now. The happy couples, the laughing children, life bursting from the seams in all its brilliance. His toes curled in revulsion inside his black leather boots. He resolved to get darker sunglasses as soon as possible. 

“How are we supposed to do anything like this?” Crowley asked, directing his eyes towards the pave path. 

“It’s a burden we must bear through our trials. It would be too easy for me to be good with the love of God. And it would be easy for you to be evil without these feelings,” Aziraphale said grimly, squinting in the low English sun. Crowley stopped and reached into his pocket and offered him his extra pair of sunglasses. Aziraphale cautiously took them and slipped them on and they continued slowly towards the shop. “Much better. Thank you. Anyway, it’s all a challenge sent to us from God.”

“Can I ask you an honest question?” Crowley asked as they stumbled along. “How are you so sure that your side is the good one?” 

“Well it certainly isn’t yours.”

“Well, no. ‘Course not, but then again, God is the one who made my side...the way they are, isn’t she? We all weren’t like this before...” 

“What are you saying?”

“Maybe there is no good side. Maybe...I was happier I suppose when I thought we were done with both of them. Neither side seems worth all the trouble.”

“God is worth it. Heaven is worth it, I’m certain.”

“Both spend their eternity torturing these poor stupid animals. Killing them, telling them all these ridiculously contradictory rules, not being honest with what is going on...”

“Crowley, really. I won’t let you do this to me. I won’t be dragged down,” Aziraphale said seriously as they walked into the bookstore. A beatific smile spread across Aziraphale’s face. “I’m going to be forgiven.” 

“She allowed her minions to try and kill you with hellfire, and you’re excited to be forgiven by her. It should be the other way around if you ask me.”

“Well what do you want to do? What jobs are your lot offering you anyway?”

“Nevermind all that. It’s been enough of a day,” Crowley said though it was barely past noon. He felt a heavy weariness in his immortal soul. Having these sudden floods of emotions had Crowley using old muscles that had long ago atrophied in his spiritual self and he was drained from the herculean task of holding it all together. “When was the last time you had a good, solid, human-style sleep.”

“Oh...uh. I want to say 2006?”

“I think I could use a snooze, how about you?” Crowley asked softly. 

“A snooze? I want to return to heaven as soon as possible. I’m on fire with passion for the Almighty I’m...I’m…” Aziraphale said, but then stopped. He was being selfish, once again. It was easy to do when you couldn’t connect to other souls, all you could think about was yourself. All you had was yourself. He took off Crowley’s sunglasses and then reached out and slid the matching pair off of Crowley’s face. His yellow eyes were rimmed red, but not in an infernal way. In a tired, crying-for-the-last-few-hours way. “Oh, Crowley.” Aziraphale said, slightly shocked.

"Don't, ah, make a big deal out of this, alright,” goddamn this tornado inside of him. He wanted nothing more than to stay but didn’t have a way of saying so. He was desperate to stay. He needed...something. He couldn’t figure out what, but it involved staying here. It was agony. “I should just go.”

“No, no, don’t go, wait!” Aziraphale shouted. He didn’t mean to shout, but he absolutely didn’t want Crowely to leave. He did the only thing he could think to do and circled his arms around him. The demon froze awkwardly, but didn’t pull away. Everything seemed to stop for a moment. The noises outside were slowly becoming easier for Aziraphale to relegate to the background, though the silence inside was still roaring in his ears. But at this moment, resting his head against Crowley’s chest, the street was quiet and the silence seemed manageable. Crowly hesitated, and then cautiously let his head drop onto Aziraphale’s shoulder.

“I’m awful glad you’re here, Crowley.”

“Why are you doing all this? I don’t need your pity,” his voice was muffled as he spoke into Aziraphale’s shoulder. 

“You need my company, and I need yours. I mean I’m your...” Aziraphale searched for the word.

“What?”

“Friend? I mean...but you really are so much more than that,” he whispered. He was beginning to feel very selfish indeed. He ran his hands down Crowley’s back, pulling him even closer and surprising even himself. Crowley felt ready to burst. 

“Oh, I can’t. I can’t bear any of it,” he said, pushing Aziraphale away, his yellow snake eyes blinking tears from them. Before lunch, Crowley wasn’t aware he was even capable of crying and now he seemed utterly incapable of stopping. 

“Bear what?”

“Help them! Lose you! I can’t...I’d..I’d rather fade into nothing,” he mumbled, stalking away towards Histories. “Great big bloody bollocks on both sides.” 

“Forget sides then Crowley. What about our side?” he pleaded. “If you won’t rejoin with your heavenly creator if you won’t choose existence for yourself, then do it for me.”

“For you?” Crowley asked. He felt unsteady on his feet for a moment. His heart was in his throat. “For. you. For bloody fucking...arrrrghh! Damn you. Damn you! Alright! ALRIGHT.” 

“Oh wonderful! Crowley! Thank you! You won’t regret this,” Aziraphale felt the urge to kiss him which was another strange desire to have. In fact, he was feeling increasingly...corporeal around Crowley. It must be an effect of losing his connection to heaven. He quickly stuck his hands into his pockets to stop himself from grabbing Crowley and doing something rash. 

“Alright, well, see I have a feeling that the opposite is actually the case. I guess we’re off on a werewolf hunt.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale can't go through with a smiting after all, we find out hell has only one request of Crowley, and our boys finally get together after 6,000 of teasing!

Jayden was working the graveyard shift. He always tried really hard to avoid an overnight, but especially tonight. Why this night of all the nights of the month? He needed the hours. His asshole manager Kyle knew he had a baby on the way and couldn’t turn down covering for him. But he was supposed to be here by now. Kyle didn’t know what happened three nights a month, when the mood hung ripe over the endless fields of Kansas. That his very bones wanted to stretch and twist into something unnatural to the rest of the world, but perfectly normal to him. Family tradition and all. It was almost time. Jayden could feel the heat prickling underneath his skin. It wanted to pull apart, grow and morph. Everything was pulling him out into the night. Maybe he would finally eat Kyle when he eventually did arrive. 

His feet ached from standing all night. He could just bail. This 7-11 in the middle of bumfuck nowhere Kansas served more as a local grocery store/hang out for meth’d out local teens than anything resembling convenience to anyone this late. It was already 10 p.m., he had been alone for hours and Kyle was nowhere in sight. But he needed this job. 

But soon it wouldn’t matter how much he needed the job. Just as he was about to abandon his post and answer his call of nature the door chime sounded. Great, he thought. He shut his eyes and focused. He could hold off for a little while longer maybe, but his irritation at fucking Kyle and at this unwelcome intrusion made the roiling force raging inside of him harder to tamp down. Everything was screaming in him to let his fury out. He turned his thoughts to Maria, she always calmed his nerves. Maria at home, heavy with their baby making beans on the small range in their trailer. Maria watching the sunset over the endless prairie from the tailgate of his truck. Maria at their high school graduation, her eyes shining with pride and already showing under her red and gold graduation gown. 

Jayden opened his eyes to see a huge strange black car in the overlit parking lot just outside of the orange and green striped windows. What was before the counter was even stranger. A thin, pale man with dark red hair dressed in black stood slouching before him wearing sunglasses with a sour look on his face. Next to him..someone stood in a suit of shining armor holding a gleaming white crossbow pointed directly at him. The armor sparkled so brightly Jayden could see his swollen face in the breastplate. It was, of course, Crowley and Aziraphale. 

“...Hey I don’t want any trouble. Just take the cash,” Jayden said, opening the register and raising his hands up in astonishment. This new thrill of fear made him forget the transformation entirely, at least for a few moments. 

“We’re not here to rob you,” Crowley spat out as he rapped a knuckle on the scratched plastic counter. “We are here to smite you. Well, he is. Go on then,” he said, moving aside to let Aziraphale in his suit of armour closer to the register. Crowley reached into his pocket and pulled out a small blue plastic square, which he neatly unfolded to reveal a rain slicker. He pulled it over his head and slid up the hood, his black clothes now protected by a cape of bright blue transparent plastic, giving him an oddly ethereal appearance. He gave Aziraphale two enthusiastic thumbs up. He may not want to do the killing, but he wasn’t going to stand in the way of anyone else’s killing either. The crossbow that had been aimed straight at Jayden’s heart was starting to dip, however. Jayden was too astonished to come up with a plan for defense. 

“What?” Jayden asked. He wasn’t sure what ‘smite’ meant. It seemed bad. Unlike Maria, he hadn’t really finished high school, and the only place he had ever heard that word was church when he was younger. 

“How old are you?” Aziraphale asked. 

“I’m 17.”

“You’re just…” Aziraphale sputtered while lifting up his helmet’s sights. 

“A kid,” Crowley finished grimly. He pulled off his thin plastic rain slicker in one motion and stuffed it into a nearby bin. It was all ruined now. He didn’t want to see a kid die and he definitely didn’t want to see Aziraphale do it. “You were the one who wanted to smite. Not me. Go ahead and smite if you’re going to, but I won’t have any part of it,” Crowley declared.

“One moment,” Aziraphale asked. Jayden just nodded. He turned back to Crowley and dropped his voice. “We’re supposed to be in this together.” 

“As far as I’m concerned this is between you and your boss now. It has nothing to do with me. God could miracle away that boy’s affliction couldn’t she? She can do anything and she doesn’t. She wants to kill a kid? She can do it herself. She does it every day after all,” he said, wandering towards the rows of unnaturally colored soft drinks in the back of the store. 

“Please mister, my girlfriend and I got a baby on the way. Just take the money and go,” Jayden said. Aziraphale noticed the boy’s eyes were turning gold, he was sweating profusely and his eyes kept darting to the door. Something was happening, the angel realized, and it wouldn’t be good. 

“Oh for heaven’s sake. We’re not going to hurt you,” Aziraphale announced. He waved his hand and the boy froze in time and space. He slid off one of the armoured gloves and stuck it into the crook of his arm. His now-free hand reached into Crowley’s coat pocket and pulled out the black phone connected to Heylel. The familiarness of the action momentarily stunned Crowley, but he did his best to play it cool by browsing the bags of snacks he’d never in a million years attempt to consume. 

As Aziraphale called their lawyer, the security monitor in the back corner of the shop caught Crowley’s eye. The grainy black and white reflection of the store looked...off. He could see Aziraphale and the kid, even himself but in the monitor a black smoke was starting to roll down the dingy tile aisles. A message from his own side. He was afraid of this. The thick smoke pooled and swirled around the floor until it coalesced into a huge hooded figure with the faint glow of two grey-white eyes towered over Crowley’s video self with looming menace. 

“Hello Crowley,” a reedy voice whispered.

“Agares,” he responded. Great, easily his least favorite guy in hell. “How’s my favorite guy in hell?”

“We have not received word from you regarding our offer…”

“You really should be speaking to my lawyer.” 

“WE WILL SPEAK TO YOU,” the reedy voice suddenly boomed in his head. Crowley instinctively ducked behind some snack foods, producing a strange look from Aziraphale, still on the phone. “You were given a single task.”

Crowley hated to admit it, Agares scared the shit out of him, which was hard for a demon to do to another demon. They were all supposed to be pretty scary after all. But that’s why hell sent Agares, even though this task was beneath his station. Crowley was certainly beginning to feel a little less brave. Still, why give up on his suicidal recklessness now when he had everything to lose? 

“Yeah, yeah I know, I just...don’t want to,” Crowley said, keeping his voice low to not disturb...whatever was happening at the cash register. The kid was moving again and lowered his hands at least. 

The grainy black and white screen began to fill with the demon’s unsettling black smoke until only his dead, unblinking corpse-like eyes gazed down and into and through Crowley. He felt completely nailed to the spot as the outside world faded from view until all that existed was a roiling black tunnel and those menace-filled eyes.

“You will cause the angel to complete his fall or face a fate much worse than the loss of your shallow corporeal-corrupted existence,” his voice moaned and creaked like leafless tree limbs in the wind. It came from everywhere and nowhere. A cold, black dread pierced him, as if he was breathing in the black smoke of Agares himself. The cold branched out through his lungs and into his limbs like thorny vines. He was lost in a void of icy nothingness. Was he falling or was he weightless? The first thing he could feel when Aziraphale’s metal-gloved hand shook his shoulder were his teeth grinding in terror.

“Crowley? CROWLEY!” he shouted. Crowley stumbled back with a gasp, this time finally knocking over the wire rack display, sending bags of potato chips and beef jerky skittering across the linoleum. His vision cleared and he was suddenly back in the overlit store laying flat on his back with Aziraphale looking confused down at him in full armour. 

“What happen’d?” Crowley mumbled, still shaking from the experience. 

“I was about to ask you the very same thing.”

“Oh...uh…hey kid! You’re not looking terribly wolf-like. What gives?”

“I’m feeling better!” Jayden shouted. 

“So...no smiting at all? All dressed up with no one to smite?” Crowley asked Aziraphale with a smile. 

“No, no smiting,” Aziraphale said, annoyed at Crowley’s delight. As far as he was concerned, he had failed this test, again. He had no backbone for God. He’d blinked. And not only that, he hadn’t been able to perform a major miracle. He had been blocked. It was the oddest feeling. Miracles had been as easy as blowing out candles. He was thrown off his center of certainty. Why would he be sent on such a mission? He tried to keep his head held high as he walked out of the automatic doors. Just outside, Heylel leaned against Crowley’s car in the same neat gray business suit she was wearing when they had first met. The parking lot was an illuminated rectangle surrounded by a curtain of the black emptiness of the prairie. As they crossed the threshold of the store, Aziraphale’s armor vanished. 

“Good evening boys...rough night?” she asked. 

“Thanks for negotiating that miracle for me, Heylel,” Aziraphale said sheepishly. Crowley turned to his friend in surprise. Aziraphale was no slouch when it came to heavenly power. Why couldn’t he do it himself? “I hope God will forgive my weakness.” 

“Oh, don’t feel too bad. I think you made a very kind decision. Don’t think of this as a zero sum game. Even your failures will be weighed in your final judgement,” she stood up straight and opened the passenger door. “Come on, I’ll miracle you home.” 

They quietly got in and the instant Crowley closed the driver’s side door, they were parked in front of the bookshop again. It was early morning in London, dark and quiet, even in this busy place. Crowley looked at Aziraphale, who seemed lost in thought. He really wanted to enjoy this moment. To laugh at the idea of Aziraphale smiting anyone, to congratulate him on having more of a heart than his own boss...but his heart wasn’t in it. All he could see was the hurt and confusion on his angel’s face. 

“Hey, come on, let’s go inside. Have a drink,” Crowley said. “Yeah?”

“Alright,” he answered absentmindedly. He seemed to be robotically going through the motions. Something deep in Crowley twinged. He recognized this mood. He knew the lines well. It was familiar to him as the smell of rain before a storm. It was doubt and insecurity--the perfect mix for temptation. The realization gnawed at Crowley, but he put it into the back of his mind. He wasn’t going to tempt Aziraphale. He didn’t want to go back. He just needed time to figure out a plan. Patience is a virtue, and hell had no virtues at all. They weren’t going to let up. He just needed to think up a new plan. 

They entered a dark shop. Crowley lifted his hands, raising a fire in the fireplace and bringing all the candles to flame. He strolled past Aziraphale taking his coat off and headed to the back and down a winding staircase to the small wine cellar just below the bookshop. Just a few drinks, drinks among friends. Crowley insisted to no one at all as he descended into the darkness. That’s all. It was a pointless internal dialogue. As a demon, there was no one to judge his motives or thoughts, only his actions. A few bottles of good Burgundy might pick up their spirits. He wouldn’t allow the wine to get to his head. He would keep cool, calm, collected. These new feelings were inconvenient at best. Neither God nor Satan could manipulate him or frighten him. He was in control; the same old hellraiser even if he had no intention of ever returning to hell.

He stepped slowly back up the stairs and came to see Aziraphale with a cream colored blanket wrapped around his shoulders and trailing around him. He looked like the holy warrior he met all those years ago. Crowley couldn't believe he ever doubted Aziraphale's smiting prowess. He was standing, staring into the fire with his face a mask reflecting the wildly dancing light. He had taken off his white coat and shoes. His bowtie was pulled out and the collar of his white shirt was open. Crowley’s heart jumped into his throat. He was stunned by how beautiful Aziraphale looked in the firelight. Crowley stood for a moment, admiring him and felt that funny fluttering feeling fill his chest once more. 

Okay, maybe this is more than an inconvenience.

“Crowley,” he said softly. “What do you have there?”

“Uh, the ’76 Burgundy,” Aziraphale could see Crowley’s reflective golden eyes peering from the shadowy stacks before the rest of him emerged fully realized in the firelight. He was carrying two bottles of wine in each hand and set them down on a small rosewood table. He didn’t know what to do with his hands or what to say. Crowley had never really attempted being comforting to anyone before. It wasn’t in his nature, he thought. But then again, neither was crying but he had done plenty of that in the last few days. He opened the wine and poured them both large glasses, almost to the brim. Aziraphale would normally chide him and point to Crowley’s own hidden conspiracy to ruin his light-colored clothes, but he just glumly sank into his formerly favorite chair holding the perilously full glass with both hands.

“I really cocked up my chances, didn’t I?” Aziraphale said. “And not only that, I couldn’t miracle that boy’s affliction away. As if the well of endless almighty power was just beyond my grasp...,” his eyes shone with tears for a moment as he shook his head and took a large gulp of the wine. Something as second nature as breathing was gone from him. 

“No, no no you did everything completely right Angel,” Crowley said. He folded his lanky legs beneath him as he sat on the floor next to Aziraphale’s chair. The fire cracked and popped and threw off a delicious heat. Crowley rested his hands on the armrest of the overstuffed and worn leather chair and looked up at this heavenly vessel. Aziraphale glowed in the light and Crowley couldn’t take his eyes off of him. He clung to Aziraphale as a little piece of the heaven he lost all those years ago. He had an urge to wrap Aziraphale in his arms as if he could push his heart into the Angel’s chest and take all his pain on himself. Angels weren’t supposed to suffer like this, at least he was used to it. Crowley wanted to touch him so badly, but he wasn’t sure if it was the part of him that loved and adored Aziraphale or the part of him that wanted to tempt him, to whisper in his ear about sin until he’d be able to pull something so beautiful down into the muck with him. The thought was terrifying and thrilling at the same time. 

“You know, I, at least, am really very...proud of you,” Crowley said. “You stood up for yourself. I know how hard that is for you when it comes to what’s-her-face.” 

“I didn’t stand up for myself, I backed down from my holy mission, there’s a difference. The moment of divine justice arrived...and I couldn’t do what was required. And all because...,” Aziraphale said, but abruptly stopped. He took another large gulp of the wine and rested his head back in his chair. 

“Because what?”

“Because I’d rather disobey God...than let you down,” Aziraphale shamefully admitted. His cheeks burned with the embarrassing truth. He looked down and Crowley’s wide, beautiful snake eyes were staring back up at him. They glittered in shifting shades of yellow and gold in the firelight. He looked as wonderful as when they first met on that clear day on the walls of Eden. The first time he ever met Aziraphale was that day, the first day, and he was in love from the start. The angel who had willinging given up a gift from his God to help those weaker than himself. The angel who put doing right ahead of some ineffable plan.

Crowley couldn’t help his nature. He was a temptation demon after all. Aziraphale may not have realized this, but for an angel to disobey heaven for a demon was quite an incredibly tantalizing thing to do. There was no reason to deny it, or hide it anymore. Crowley kneeled on the floor of the bookstore in front of Aziraphale. He reached up and touched Aziraphale’s face. He had to be careful, he wasn’t sure if Aziraphale had ever gotten the most out of his physical form. He wasn’t quite as bacchanalian as Crowley, after all, who had once lost track of time for an entire wild century partying with gorgeous, golden-skin Dijn out in the deserts of Arabia. Crowley was the one who spent time with debaucherous intellectuals doing things in the catacombs beneath pre-revolutionary France that would likely make Aziraphale’s hair curl. And then there was The Factory in the late ’70s in New York...none of which he had ever discussed with Aziraphale. Sex hadn’t come up. Pure, good Aziraphale. He had probably never given in to his carnality. It made it all so much more exciting. 

Aziraphale, despite his heartache, didn’t hesitate and leaned down to meet Crowley’s lips, surprising Crowley with the extremely corporal move of slipping his tongue into his mouth. Aziraphale of course didn’t mean to shock Crowley. Perhaps he had been a bit rash. He wasn’t sure if Crowley had ever gotten the most out of his physical form, after all. Crowley wasn’t nearly as affectionate or had much experience with love. Aziraphale had always been a little different than other angels. It wasn’t just food and wine he enjoyed, but anything delightful to the corporeal form. Crowley wasn’t around in the early days of angels and human copulations. He certainly wasn’t in attendance at some of the better parties in Macedonia, or the more open minded Italian courts, or the discreet gentlemen’s clubs of London. He should probably behave a bit more delicately, but kissing Crowley, finally, was the first good thing to happen in a long time. 

Aziraphale breathed Crowley in as Crowley ran his hands down his thighs. The demon smelled like dead roses and smoke, some small indications of his former etherealness. The darkness that had weighed heavily on him had almost disappeared. So, it was true. He thought nothing could keep him from heaven, but here they were, kissing in his bookshop with no werewolf blood on his hands. It was Crowley who relieved him of his despair, not God. 

He slipped his hands inside of his jacket and slid it off Crowley’s shoulders. Crowley finished ripping it off and threw it into the darkness of the shop. His hands were slightly shaking as he ran them around Aziraphale’s neck and down to his chest, where he began to make quick work of his shirt buttons. He began to kiss Aziraphale’s neck while dramatically pulling his vest off and his shirt apart, but Aziraphale put his hands up.

“Crowley...you’re not doing this just because you’re under the influence of these new... intense feelings…” Aziraphale managed to get out through his desperate breaths. 

“Really, I’m begging you, please, please do us both a favor,” Crowley said, pulling his own shirt off and grabbing Aziraphale. He rubbed his thumb along the Aziraphale’s bottom lip. “Shut the hell up.” Aziraphale looked a little surprised and then grinned and pulled him closer by Crowley’s belt. 

“You could probably miracle these clothes away,” Crowley growled.

“Now where’s the fun in that?” Aziraphale said. He wanted to rush things. He wanted to take Crowley quickly, to forget everything while holding sway over the demon, but fought the urge. He slid his hand inside of Crowley’s tight black black jeans. Crowley’s breath caught as Aziraphale wrapped his hand around the demon’s hard cock. 

“Angel…” Crowley whispered, his eyes soft and unfocused before Aziraphale pulled him close for another kiss. Crowley didn’t expect to feel helpless in this moment. Aziraphale, so beautiful; and strong. He was stroking him and wrapping around his body and lightly nibbling his neck. Crowley closed his eyes and lost himself as his body hummed with angelic touch. Aziraphale’s fingertips felt like points of cold light. This wasn’t just the long unrequited sex or a sinful good time in their corrporeal forms. He never dreamed of being even this close to heaven again. It was overwhelming, almost painful. 

Aziraphale miracled up a thick, elaborately embroidered gold and red cushion in front of the fireplace just behind Crowley. He pushed the demon back, who seemed to float as if he was in a dream and landed gently. Aziraphale admired his proud, wiry body. He leaned down, his wings slowly unfurled and stretched out around them. He ran his hands down Crowley’s chest as he kissed his neck. Crowley opened his eyes to see full white-feathered wings above him as Aziraphale kissed his way down. Crowley gasped as Aziraphale wrapped his mouth around his throbbing cock while slipping two of his fingers inside of him. 

And he thought Aziraphale was innocent. 

He reached down and filed his hands with Aziraphale’s soft white-blond hair. Airaphale pushed and pulled until Crowley could no longer hold down his orgasm. He gasped as he spasmed and shuttered under Aziraphale’s heavenly hands. Aziraphale fell to his side. Crowley looked at him shocked. 

“We could have been doing that for the last 6,000 years!?” he said breathlessly. 

“Not even close to as good as it gets,” he said with a slight smile as he wrapped his arms around Crowley's thin frame and drew him close. His desire for Crowley was overwhelming. He could barely breathe. His wings folded around them, as if they might be the two things in this universe god didn’t have her eye on. He wrapped Crowley in a spooning embrace and placed a hand on Crowley's chest. A warm feeling spread from under Aziraphale's palm and for a blessed moment, Crowley felt whole again and safe. Something he hadn’t felt in over 6,000 years. Aziraphale kissed Crowley’s ear as pulled him closer. Crowley, the fiery broken soul who challenged him at every turn. Such a perfect form. It never really occurred to Aziraphale that Crowley was designed to be desirable, to be tempting. He wanted to save him, but he knew better. He couldn’t save anyone. He couldn’t save himself. But he could still love, and loving him was the next best thing he could do. 

There was no holding back now. Aziraphale buried his face into that familiar flaming red hair as grabbed his own phallus and slowly pushed into Crowley. Crowley was quite lost in the excess of physical and spiritual pleasure. He wrapped his legs around Crowley and drove himself hard and deep into him. With each thrust the light flooding Crowley’s mind became more and more intense until even his vision saw nothing but white light. It burned, but didn’t hurt, like cold fire. His dark nature was still present, but shrank in submission to all this glory. 

“Yes, Crowley, my fallen star,” Aziraphale whispered in his ear. With one hand he grabbed hold of Crowley’s thick cock again and with the other grabbed a handful of Crowley’s hair, pulling his head back, just so he could look into Crowley’s eyes when he came. He wasn’t usually so rough, but Crowley was a demon after all. He could take it, and much more. The sudden motion seemed to wake Crowley from his reverie and he wrapped his hands around Aziraphale’s arms, holding on rather than pushing away. Aziraphale moaned and pressed his fingers tight into Crowley’s body as they came together. For a moment, for just a flash, Crowley’s yellow eyes cleared to their long lost blue before the gold and yellow quickly filled back in. 

They lay entwined and panting together in front of the fire as the gray morning crept through the windows. Aziraphale retracted his wings, allowing them to settle into their astral form once more. He wrapped Crowley in his strong-armed embrace. He felt the demon shudder with a strangled sob. 

“Oh goddamn, why now? These stupid bloody feelings right now?” Crowley’s voice cracked as he whispered in frustration. He turned his face into the thick cushion they rested on as he clutched Aziraphale’s arms around him, almost afraid to let go of the angel and this moment. He wasn’t really sure what he expected when he reached out for Aziraphale, but it certainly wasn’t this. He didn’t tempt Aziraphale into a delightful sin-filled corporeal evening, he didn’t drag the gleaming soul angel down with him. Aziraphale had lifted him up and given him a small glance of what he used to be. He thought he had completely rejected and forgotten the taste of heaven, but it all came rushing back in the angel’s arms. Aziraphale sighed and ran his hands through Crowley’s hair and covered his neck and shoulders with kisses. Crowley wasn’t the only one who didn’t want to let go.


	3. Cast Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley can't help who he is.

“Are you alright?” Aziraphale asked. 

“That was...really wonderful,” Crowley sat up and rested his elbows on his knees. He quickly put his hands to his eyes. 

“You haven’t had many chances for love, have you?” Aziraphale asked sadly. 

“Plenty of chances...sometimes in great big piles with mortals and varying degrees of spirits,” Crowley said. “But ya know, not typically with a lot of these...bloody feeling things, involved, obviously.” 

“Oh…” Aziraphale said, a little embarrassed that he has assumed so much about Crowley. 

“But never...never ever like that, Aziraphale. Have you always felt some ways about me?”

“Of course,” he said with his beatific smile. He pulled the previous thrown off blanket from the floor and draped it over the pair. He laid back down and propped himself up on one elbow. Crowley once again could have sworn there was a light flowing from him. He seemed brighter than everything around him. “But you know...angel, demon.” 

“Yeah,” Crowley said, his mind racing over the implications of this as he stared into the fire.

“I mean, it might have gotten us both in a lot of trouble. But I’m likely far too deep in trouble now to worry about something as silly as fraternization,” he said quietly. “How long have you…”

“Since always. Since the day I met you, that day on the walls of the garden,” he said quietly. “But demon...angel. Though I guess we’re not really either anymore.” 

“Well if I’m going to fade away into nothingness, at least I finally have you. I think I can live, however long or briefly, with that,” Aziraphale said with a reassuring smile.

“You deserve better than...that, Aziraphale,” Crowley said. He wanted to say ‘You deserve better than me,’ but why ruin a sweet moment with something as ugly as the truth. “Let’s call Heylel later. We’re gonna get you back on track no matter what.”

Crowley had such resolve in his eyes. Aziraphale had rarely doubted that resolve but to him, it was already pretty hopeless. The emptiness of existence without heaven yawned before him. Surely, he could find a way to resign himself to oblivion. If humans could make peace with it, why couldn’t he? So many doubted an afterlife, yet still got up in the morning. 

“It certainly does give one an appreciation for what humans go through,” Aziraphale finally said.

“It’s what I’ve been saying, isn’t it?” Crowley fell back and pulled Aziraphale to his chest, running his hands through his perfectly white hair. “It’s almost like we’re just like those poor bastards now.”

“Poor bastards? They’re her favorites. She’d never let them fade away into nothing.”

“Don’t talk like that. You’re sounding dangerously like--”

“Like you.” 

Crowley swallowed hard and squeezed Aziraphale tightly to him. He trained his eyes on the ceiling, where Aziraphale had been praying to god just a few days earlier. He wished more than anything that she was actually listening, but she wasn’t, he knew she wasn’t, not to them at least. They drifted off to sleep with their arms wrapped around each other on the floor of the shop. 

A few hours passed before Aziraphale finally rose from their cozy nest. Crowley could stay locked in human sleep for days if given the chance and Aziraphale no longer saw a need to rush him to wakefulness. Crowley’s perfect pale thin body stretched out on his shop’s floor was a dream come true. His heart soared thinking of last night. The final wall between them had fallen. 

The shop was nowhere near acceptable tidiness, luckily he got maybe two or three real customers a week, so there was no need to open up. He miracled up some clothes--at least he could still do that much--and put out the fire. He gathered up their wine glasses and on his way to the back, picked up Crowley’s jacket that he had carelessly thrown into the darkness the previous night. There was something heavy in the pocket, which fell with a clatter on to the floor. It was Crowley’s black mobile, his personal direct link to Heylel. A new message was waiting for Crowley from their ethereal solicitor. Aziraphale read the message to himself. They were in this together after all. 

“Received a message from Agares. Are you really going through with the temptation of Az? Please advise.” 

Cold confusion seized him and ran down his body, like ice water in his veins. He read it again. Temptation? Him? It made no sense. But then why would a high demon like Agares contact Heyel about Crowley? Heyel said that winning Crowley for heaven would be a huge boon for his case for re-entry into heaven. It never occurred to him that hell might feel the same way about him. 

No, this can’t be right. Crowley wouldn’t...would he? They were on the same side, their side...though last night Aziraphale was ready to give up on heaven. Maybe it wasn’t his weakness that caused him to forget god. He was ready to give up, could it be because of Crowley? Crowley, the one he trusted and loved the most. Who had comforted him when God wouldn’t. The very depths of this betrayal...he slowly turned towards the pale figure of the sleeping demon. Crowley’s body could have been carved out of marble by one of the masters of antiquity. His love however was overtaken with rage. His heart broke in every direction. He stalked over to the cushion by the now cold fire. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, but it came out as a strangled whisper. A pit opened in Aziraphale’s stomach. To think it had almost been so easy for Crowley to cause his fall. He could feel his wings filling the space. His ancient duty to heaven, that was what mattered, not this lying snake. When he spoke next, it came full of righteousness and fury. “CROWLEY, DEMON, ARISE.”

This got the old demon’s attention. Angels had the ability to summon up their fallen enemies. Even cut off from Heaven, they recognized its authority. He had always been stronger than Crowley, they both knew it. Crowley liked Aziraphale because he didn’t flash it around like other angels he had had unfortunately come across in his travels. Only now something had changed. Crowley jumped up with wide eyes and clutched the blanket to his naked chest. 

“Wha--what happened?” Crowley asked. The last few weeks had been so tumultuous he was always ready for the next shoe to drop. He looked up at Aziraphale. His eyes shone with white-hot righteous rage. “Az-?”

“What were you commanded by hell to do to earn your way back?” Aziraphale asked. He wasn’t using his crack-of-doom voice anymore, but Crowley still cowered. The rage building on Aziraphale’s face told him the angel already knew.

“They wanted me...to cause you to come to their side,” he admitted. 

“Last night...was that...did you purposefully tempt me,” Aziraphale’s voice cracked a little.

“I didn’t, honest. At least...I didn’t mean to,” he said, casting his eyes down from Aziraphale’s brilliance. 

“You...you,” Aziraphale was so angry he couldn’t get the words out. 

“I can’t help what I am. But please believe me. I don’t want to go back. I never wanted to--”

“Out,” Aziraphale said. Loose papers and pens around the shop began to orbit the furious angel. Crowley could see the ephemeral outline of his wings extend in the dusty shafts of sunlight, but not draped in love, like last night. They arched high above Aziraphale’s head, the tips brushing the high ceiling of the book shop and becoming more solid by the moment. Piles of books that had been perfectly stacked on the floor began sliding towards the Aziraphale. Last night’s wine glasses shattered and the furniture began doing an impatient dance. 

“What?”

“OUT OF MINE SIGHT SERPENT, DECEIVER, SERVANT OF WICKEDNESS,” Aziraphale’s commanding voice filled Crowley with an existential fear he hadn’t felt since leaving heaven. His very molecules seemed to quake. His jaw dropped. 

“Aziraphale, please,” Crowley begged. The angel towered over him now, his huge wings pointing towards heaven, ready for a fight. Crowley instinctively put up an arm to shield himself from his wrath. The action stopped Aziraphale in his tracks. The whirlwind in the room began to die down and Aziraphale’s wings began to fade from the physical realm. He was less terrifying by the moment, but more heartbreaking.

“How...could you, Crowley?” he asked, tears filling his perfect blue eyes. Aziraphale wasn’t sure he had enough power to do this, but he had to try. He couldn’t stand to even look at his old friend and love. He reached as deep as he could and vanished Crowley from his shop.


	4. Into the wilderneess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale runs from his problems directly into one of the centers of some of the most intense human suffering on the planet in an effort to show heaven he still has what it takes to be good through and through. But when his mission goes sideways, there's only one entity that can save him and his human companion.

Aziraphale watched despondently from the passenger seat of an old Red Crescent panel van as an incredible wind storm tore tents and temporary structures from the hillside refugee encampment. The white cliffs were obscured in a haze of sideways moving rain and debris. The few scraggly twisted pines in this barren place were filled with scraps of clothing and bits of plastic bags. The rest of these incredibly poor peoples’ belongings were scattered down the cliff face and into the flat low desert below. These people been pushed from their homes and now huddled around the only hospital tent for miles. But there was nothing now. Even the sturdy Red Crescent 50 bed hospital tent was half-collapsed.

Dr. Yara Nazari sat in the driver's seat next to him, completely silent but with a steady stream of tears running from her deep brown eyes and cutting dark rivulets through the white dust on her face. She had been there almost as long as he had, and they both watched as the wind ripped apart what had been their home for over three years in just a few minutes. He briefly considered using one of his allotted miracles to ease her pain, but he knew he’d have to save it for the wounded. 

“Yara, we can rebuild. Allah is great and will provide a path,” Aziraphale said in Arabic. 

“It isn’t easy to believe in the greatness of Allah in such times,” she said without a hint of emotion in her voice, a trick she learned as a refugee herself from Syria before she and her family escaped to America. The 15 or so silent, wide-eyed kids piled in the bench seats in the back of the van had also learned similar lessons. They rarely cried, or screamed, or laughed. They had been struck dumb by the violence and death they had witnessed.

They listened as tent poles and cheap furniture pinged and clattered against the van’s rusting white metal sides. Every so often there was a loud enough bang was enough to make Yara flinch. A pair of crutches--coveted medical equipment due to the amount of amputees in the camp--tumbled end over end past their windshield and over the cliff. Yara was right, it certainly was difficult to maintain faith in a god who gives a damn. This suffering served some purpose, he told himself over and over again. It must. 

He wasn’t here to examine the mechanics of the ineffable plan. He had picked the hardest item on his heavenly list: to provide aid and comfort in the darkest corners of human existence. Far away from old books and comfy chairs and nice clothes and fine restaurants. As far from London as he could get. He needed to show his devotion could withstand any onslaught. He was allotted only a few minor miracles a week and his powers seem to fail randomly. He used it when he could to do things like stop a dysentery outbreak or reverse sepsis in an injured child. People at the camp had vaguely noticed things went right when he was around, but his powers were so hit or miss that it wasn’t hard to simply blend in. Everyday was a struggle just to survive and the suffering was immense. But he wasn’t nearly as holy as Yara, who had escaped this life, knew it intimately, and devoted her incredible talents to saving the most forgotten people on the planet. 

Well, he thought, Yara deserves some peace. She is a miracle unto herself. He reached out and gently placed his hand on her shoulder and released her fear and doubt and painful memories. A small miracle. She breathed deeply and wiped away her tears. 

“We will rebuild. We have no choice. We will rebuild stronger. I’ll get some other NGOs on the horn as soon as this mess passes,” she smiled at him and nodded. “You’re a good friend Amir, we’d be lost without you.” 

It was dark by the time the wind died down. They all slept upright in their seats, the children slumping over each other. In the morning the devastation was everywhere. Everything, the former tent city of more than a thousand people, was gone. Some women started fires and the few men from the camp stared blankly into them. A convoy of large diesel trucks rumbled off on the three-hour drive down the dangerous canyon roads to see if they could salvage any food or supplies from the mangled debris. Aziraphale caught his dirt smudged face in the mirror of the van as he stepped out and surveyed the damage. He looked exhausted. He felt exhausted, but it had been so long that exhaustion just seemed like a normal setting now. Yara jumped out of the drivers’ seat and straightened her hijab. He dug through the pockets of his rough canvas coat until he found the protein bars he had managed to stash on his way out of the storms. He walked around the van and handed them to Yara.

“It’s not much, it’s all I managed to grab,” he wasn’t eating for fun out here. Nothing was terribly delicious and they all needed it more. His feet may ache at the end of a long day but at least his stomach stayed silent. 

“Give them to the children,” she waved them away as she pinned her scarf to her head. 

“You need to eat. You’re the best doctor here and you can’t do your work hungry,” he held them out again. She looked annoyed at him, and then smiled and took the bars. 

“You really need to learn how to fear women properly,” she said sarcastically as she ripped open one of the packages. “I’m going to call a friend just over the border. They might be able to spare a few supplies while we wait for aid.” 

“A “friend” just over the border. Which border?” he put his hands on his hips as she jogged away from him and towards the communications truck. “This doesn’t sound like an NGO. Yara!”

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to,” she shouted back. “I’m going to make some calls. If you find coffee…” her shouts were drowned out as a few nearby generators kicked on. 

Hours later, a few ramshackle tents had been retrieved and set back up but not nearly enough. Some families were preparing to sleep around fires under the stars. The waning afternoon was hot and Aziraphale was working with other relief workers to get the evening’s fresh water distributed. Yara ran up excitedly and pulled him away from the crowd, her small determined hand dug into his rough thick clothes as she excitedly told him about her uncle, who called a friend in Damascus, who knew a tea distributor’s stepson’s roommate who was willing to meet in the desert two hours south and hand over some black market tents and blankets, at an exorbitant price of course. 

Three years ago earlier, he never would have leapt into a sandblasted Toyota pickup and sped off down a desert road with nothing but a few bottles of water, a radio, a GPS, an AK-47 across his lap, $6,000 in emergency cash under the floorboards and an MD with a focus in pediatrics from the University of Michigan at the wheel. And he thought Crowley drove suicidally fast. Crowley. That had been the only nice part of being so bone tired. When he was barely able to crawl into his cot at night he only had a few desperate moments to devote to missing Crowley before sleep took him. Occasionally a wave of forgetfulness would rise up and overtake him but he mostly wrestled with his regret and loneliness night after night. 

An hour into their journey and Aziraphale was sore from bouncing along the rough desert road. Yara’s focus was complete however, as she pushed the truck even harder against the rapidly darkening sky. Stars were starting to come out by the time they came across the road block, nothing more than some pilfered military blockades, manned by some very unofficial looking men also carrying AK-47s.

“Oh, God,” Aziraphale said, pushing the gun to the floor and raising his hands. 

“Just let me do the talking, Amir.”

“I don’t think either one of us will be doing much talking...” Aziraphale said, nudging her to put her hands up. Her dark brown eyes were wide. 

“We’re in trouble, aren’t we,” her voice shook a little as the men motioned for them to get out of the truck. 

The men immediately bound their hands behind their backs. Their pockets rifled through and everything removed, including a strange white mobile phone. They were questioned, again and again about their relation to each other and what they were doing on the road. When the men realized they were NGO employees there was cheering. They’d be able to get a great ransom for the pair. Bandits, well, that was better than the alternative. They didn’t want to cross any of the sectarian lines that seemed to shift daily. 

Captors and captives all piled in the back of an old American troop hauler and turned hard to the west. Another of the band followed up in their Toyota. From what Aziraphale could tell, they hadn’t discovered the money. They bounced along, driving straight into the desert. Aziraphale really regretted his use of a miracle the night before. 

The van pulled up to a camp with several large tents set up around two fires. Generators hummed in the background. They were miles from any road or settlement. For miles around, the only thing to see was the blue-black sky meeting the dark gray rocks under the harsh blue light of a full moon. The camp was lively, with men shouting over each other and cooking their evening meals. The scent of hashish and opium drifted through the air. This was a gang with a reason to celebrate tonight. 

They were shown into a large canvas tent with two narrow beds, a chair and a few prayer rugs. Yara was released from her ties, at least, but instructed not to say or do anything. She was to sleep, nothing more. They would both be closely watched. Aziraphale was fastened to the tent pole in the middle of the tent. One of the bandits kicked his knees out from under him and they laughed as he fell to the threadbare carpet. They took up their positions on either side of the doorway to the tent. 

“Amir...I’m so, so sorry,” Yara whispered, kneeling a few feet away from him to stay out of the guards’ line of sight. 

“This isn’t your fault,” he tried to miracle his binds away, create a sound that might distract the guards, anything, but it was no use, he couldn’t perform even the smallest miracle. “Listen to me: We are going to get out of here. You understand? For now, let’s play along and keep an eye out for our chance to run. If you get that chance, Yara, take it. Please don’t worry about me. I’ll be alright”

“Amir-”

“If you get a chance. Run. Run east back towards the road,” he said seriously.

Soundless tears sprung up again, but she nodded. The adrenaline from the kidnapping was wearing off and her whole body was shaking. She pulled off her boots, quietly climbed into one of the beds and pulled a thin blanket over herself. It took a few hours, but she seemed to drift off before the music started. Soft, sensual music with bells chiming through the night. These are some talented highwaymen, Aziraphale thought. When he heard a voice that made his heart leap into his throat. 

“Hello, angel.”


	5. Lost In The Wilderness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley saves the day, but Aziraphale sticks to his guns.

Aziraphale craned his neck towards the door of the tent. Yara was still and curled up on the bed. The door was empty, save for the backs of the guards, who also seemed to also be noticing the music. At least he wasn’t imagining that. Then he felt something cold and smooth and alive slide by his wrist and over his leg. 

A snake. But not a rough, desert snake. This one was slower and thicker. The snake rose in front of Aziraphale. It coiled its great black body underneath a thick fierce head. Its eyes, shifting yellow and gold in that familiar way, meet his. As it rose it morphed into Crowley. Beautiful Crowley, dressed in a spotless black linen kaftan and no glasses on his eyes. 

“Crowley! What are you doing here?”

“Really. That’s what you kick off with?” he whispered while untying his hands. “Come on.”

“No, wait. Yara, we have to get her out of here.”

“Don’t worry, some old friends of mine are going to take care of the guards for us,” Crowley said, straightening up and giving Aziraphale a hand up. The guards seemed to have wandered away from their posts. It must have been the music, the delightful, mesmerizing…

“Djinn? You unleashed some Djinn on these fools?”

“It’s a better end than they deserve honestly. Especially if it’s with Ise,” Crowley said with a shrug and a grin. Aziraphale immediately went to wake Yara, but Crowley stopped him. “Nah, let her sleep, she’s not going to understand any of this.” Crowley waved out the camp door. There was laughter just beyond it, and the music was intensifying. Crowley stooped and put the keys to the Toyota on top of her boots. “She’ll be fine. Those guys aren’t ever coming back,” Crowley took his hand and led him out into the desert night. 

They silently walked into the desert, away from the party that would consume the bandits for the rest of their unnaturally lengthened lives. Aziraphale stared at him amazed. It hadn’t been that long, at least as far as their friendship was concerned, but still Crowley looked magical. Crowley’s gold snake eyes reflected the glow of the silver full moon as small circles of demonic light. His porcelain skin and clean clothes made Aziraphale more aware of his own general shabbiness and filthiness. Crowley didn’t seem to notice though. 

“Crowley I...how did you find me?” 

“All Heylel would tell me is that you were going back to where it all began. The Levant. Though I admit, once I got here I got a bit distracted when I couldn’t find you. Well, it’s a big place, isn’t it? And not terribly convenient to travel through even at the best of times. But then I heard about the good man doing wonders in a refugee camp and…”

“For how long?”

“A little over a year. I’ve been just...sorta keeping an eye on you. It seemed like you could--” 

“Crowley...I…” Aziraphale said. He stopped and reached out and turned Crowley towards him. 

“--Now I know you didn’t want me to find you. I’m sorry-”

“--No, please-”

“-I-I mean...you looked like you needed help-”

“Yes, but-”

“All I did was go for an extended walk and besides how cross with me can you really be after I save you-”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale shouted. Crowley cringed and looked momentarily nervous, which just made the shame of their last encounter burn brighter in Aziraphale. “I’m trying to ask for your forgiveness...though I’m not sure I deserve it.” 

“What d’you mean?” Crowley looked at him with confusion. 

“It has occurred to me that I blamed you for my moment of doubt because it was easier than acknowledging my weakness,” Aziraphale said sheepishly. 

“No, no. You’re the strongest being I know. What you’ve been through…” Crowley swallowed hard. “Besides, you had every right to be angry.”

“I did?” Aziraphale asked, feeling his heart seize for a moment. 

“The thing is, I really don’t know if I tempted you or not. I’m not entirely sure. It’s my nature, to offer what might be wanted but not wise. I wanted you. You must have wanted me back enough...I dunno. Probably as close to a temptation as makes no difference. Anyway, I should have told you what my side was demanding.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“It was never a question. I was never going to do it, Angel. A moot point, at least I thought. I should have let you decide that.”

“Well...I forgive you. Do you forgive me?”

“Of course, sure. Whatever. I’m just happy to be here with you,” he cautiously reached out and took Aziraphale’s hand. He gently pulled the angel closer and smiled as he reached up and rubbed some dirt off Aziraphale’s cheek. His eyes glowed infernally with the silver light of the moon. He held Aziraphale’s face in his hands for a moment. “I still do, you know. Want you. I’ve spent every moment away missing you. Come with me, away from all this. You’ve done enough, I’ve seen it with my own eyes”

He was lost in his eyes for a moment and felt his desire to stay in his holy charge slipping away. He briefly wondered if that was exactly what the demon wanted, but Crowley had always been honest with him. If he was using his powers to tempt Aziraphale, he wasn’t aware of it. Besides, the desire had to be there for Crowley to be able to use it. 

“I can’t. I can’t,” he whispered, shaking his head even as he leaned forward into Crowely. Wood smoke and dead roses filled his senses. His Crowley. If he didn’t leave soon he would never be able to. He took Crowley's hands off his face and kissed his fingertips, but stepped back, tears in his tired eyes. “I need to get back to my work.” 

“Aziraphale…” Crowley said softly as he watched the angel turn and walk back towards the bandit camp. He waited a moment, not entirely sure of what to do. He didn’t think he’d even get this moment. He figured Aziraphale would cast him away again, too wise to waste any more time on him. He was half right. After a moment of watching Aziraphale walk away, he did the only thing that made sense and simply followed the angel, as he had been doing for the last year.

Aziraphale walked into the night, vaguely aware Crowley was lingering behind him. He lost track of Crowley when he re-entered the now completely empty camp. He woke Yara and they snuck out, but not before Aziraphale loaded up the truck with the bandits meger supplies. They wouldn’t need them anymore. Yara didn’t say anything, she looked utterly defeated but didn’t ask how they had managed to escape. She even let Aziraphale drive them back to the camp. The hours they spent missing had sent the other relief workers into a panic. After multiple tight hugs the only way they got out of trouble was the meager offerings and the return of all of the cash.


	6. A Good Guy

It was days later when relief trucks finally rolled up with their badly needed supplies. Everyone was busy preparing to set up the new all-weather tents but Yara was worried about her friend. He had been so quiet since they got back, and wouldn’t speak at all about what happened with the bandits. When the relief truck arrived from Amnesty International UK rolled up he barely looked up at the fresh recruits there to relieve some of the burnt-out relief workers. Yara was chatting with two new workers when she led them to where Aziraphale was checking off supplies in the hospital’s kitchen tent. She was trying to get him out of his shell, but he didn’t even bother to look up. He wasn’t interested in inspecting the latest of a revolving door of well-meaning, but ill prepared fresh-out-of-college kids. By the time he learned their names they were usually gone. A skinny pale hand slipped into his view, the nails painted black. He blinked before grasping the hand as he looked up from his work.

“Hello...Amir. Nice to meet you, I’m Anthony,” Crowley stood before him in heavy work boots, dark green safari pants and a rough overcoat similar to Aziraphale’s over a black ribbed tank top. He had an old army rucksack slung over his shoulder. His almost shoulder-length red curls were tied into a messy ponytail. His smile was beaming from below a set of simple square, dark sunglasses. Aziraphale was speechless.

“Amir, have you ever seen a boy so pale,” Yara said with a laugh. “I hope you tan better than the last batch of Brits.” 

“Not likely, though I do love the heat,” Crowley said grinning. Aziraphale still stared in shock. 

“I’m sorry,” he finally shook himself out of his amazement. “You...you’re coming to work here?” Aziraphale asked. 

“That’s right,” Crowley said. Aziraphale just stared at him with amazement. His beautiful, angelic smile slowly spread across his face. Yara gave him a strange look and he realized he was still holding on to Crowley’s hand. He let go and blushed. 

“Come on, I’ll show you where you’ll be staying. It’s not fancy…” she led Crowley away, but he looked behind him and flashed Aziraphale another grin, pulling down his sunglasses and winking a large golden eye at Aziraphale. 

Once he was done with inventory Aziraphale made an excuse to go find Crowley. He found him trying to fix their bank of satellite phones. He had explained to Yara he had some experience in communications. This was proving much easier than bringing down London’s entire mobile network. Aziraphale found him sitting on the ground and stripping wires. He sat next to Crowley, but the demon barely looked up from his task.

“Crowley! What for heaven’s sake are you doing here?” 

“Fixing your comms truck.” 

“No I mean-”

“I know what you mean. You said you had to come back. You never said I couldn’t come with you.”

“Are you doing this to get back into heaven?” he asked, amazed.

“No, no, no,” he said. “I haven’t spoken to Heylel since well, since a few days after you sent me away.” 

“Oh.”

“You’re the only reason I’m here. I didn’t come looking for you just to let you walk away now. Do you...not want me here?”

“I do. I want you...uh, here,” Aziraphale said. “It’s not easy, you know.” 

“I’m aware, angel. I’m fairly experienced at suffering, it’s one of my favorite flavors” he said annoyed as he fiddled with the machine’s insides. “You know, I don’t have much luck with miracles these days. I don’t know how useful I’ll be.” 

“Me neither, actually. It’s ok. Just being here is a miracle sometimes.”

“Well, I don’t know how much bedside manner the likes of me can really offer either.”

“I have faith in you,” Aziraphale beamed at him

“Oh shut up,” he sneered. Aziraphale just beamed at the sour demon. He was sure he could get Crowley into heaven now. He was good. He was here wasn’t he? Their sides don’t care about their motives, just actions. 

“Please, let’s tell Heylel you’re here. It might as well count for something.” 

“Goodness is its own reward,” he said with a laugh, twisting wires together and then sinking shoulder-deep into the machine. “I don’t want to play their games and I mean it. It’s like you said, years ago; I get to spend my limited time still in existence with you. It’s all that matters,” he said, skipping over the fact that Aziraphale had left him only a few hours after saying exactly that. He pulled himself out after a satisfying clunk reverberated in the machine and slapped the access port closed. He fired up the communications center that ran a bank of satellite phones and generated their weak internet access. It hummed to life for the first time since the storm. 

“And you said you can’t perform miracles!” He pulled Crowley close and in his excitement, kissed him. He immediately regretted it, thinking he had moved too fast, but Crowley eagerly pulled him close and returned his kiss. Crowley’s breath caught as they pulled apart. 

“Who needs ‘em. This is as close to heaven as I need to be.”

“Listen, I have to do a water distribution shift and some more inventory. I’ll see you...after supper?”

“Lovely. What are we having?” he absentmindedly fiddled with Aziraphale’s collar. He couldn’t help but bask in the unexpected kiss. 

“We’re, or rather I, won’t be having anything. They usually make big pots of couscous and a kind of chickpea stew. Sometimes there’s goat. It’s not bad, really. I take a plate so no one gets suspicious, but pass it off to someone else.”

“I never thought I’d see the day you passed up a meal. Well, after that, let’s meet in your tent,” Crowley pulled him close and pressed against him. He whispered into Aziraphale’s ear. “I have a surprise for you.”

“Just...one more thing,” Aziraphale said breathlessly, running a hand up Crowley’s arm. “You’d better intended on being...good while you're here.” 

“Not much to tempt anyone without here anyway. But you can count me retired. Honest,” he said with a smile. 

By the time night had fallen and the evening work was wrapped up, Aziraphale was tripping over himself and anything else that came across his path. He hadn’t been this happy since his last night in London, a memory that used to cause him pain. Just spotting Crowley as he walked the camp made his heart soar. And now with the hard sided temporary structures and long-haul tents popping up along orderly lines in the camp, at least families were starting to re-settle in. And they had a whisper of internet and phone signal. Things felt hopeful for the first time in a long time. 

Aziraphale rushed through his final tasks before heading to his tent a little earlier than usual. He was known for walking through and offering help to anyone who needed it, but he was going to be slightly selfish, just this once. It was a special occasion, after all. 

His newly rebuilt tent was a spacious army surplus meant for field hospital personnel. He was a king of infinite space when he had helped pull up the tents that morning, mostly because so few of his belongings survived the wind storm. What had, plus his share of the newly delivered supplies, were shoveled into one corner when he last saw his tent. When he pushed back the flap, it looked very different. 

A threadbare red and white rug stretched the length of the tent. A rough but serviceable solid desk and a chair sat on the far side of his cot, all set up as well. Above the desk hung flickering ornate brass oil lamp, hundreds of years old. Crowley had found a string of outdoor lights and strung them along the perimeter of the tent. It was meager but might as well have been a palace compared with what Aziraphale was expecting. Crowley sat cross-legged on the ground and hit play on a small electronic device as soon as he saw Aziraphale walk in. Soft jazz music from a long-ago era began playing as Crowley leaped up with a bottle of wine in one hand and two plastic cups in the other. 

“Welcome home! Now I know I said I’d be “good” but can I tempt you, one last time -- honest -- with a drink?” he said with a smile. 

“Where’d you get all of this?” 

“‘All of this’ are gifts from my Djinn friends, though the wine I’ve been dragging around for three years. I figured if I ever found you again you’d likely need a drink,” he said, handing him a cup brimming with wine. 

“I’m speechless Crowley. Thank you,” he said, taking the wine and sipping it. He hadn’t had a drop of alcohol in three years and he was ready for it to go directly to his head. He set it down, determined to take things slowly. “I wonder if I’m really supposed to be having such a good time.”

“Well, you’re not here as a punishment, right? You’re doing the good work. That should be a joyful business. Hosanna, Hosanna, and all that. So why not have a bit of fun, now and then,” he said as he hung his arms around Aziraphale’s shoulders, and pulled him close, swaying to the music. Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Crowley’s as they danced closer and closer. Crowley pushed forward and kissed the angel deeply. His heart was pounding in his ears so loudly the music and the noise of the camp fell away. It was this one moment, this one embrace and it was unending. Just kissing the angel was utterly otherworldly. It was so much sweeter that he thought this moment would never come again.

Still, what Crowley said was nagging at Aziraphale. Was he allowed to enjoy any of his time here? Or even fraternize with Crowley? There was that horrible word again, no where close to describing what they had. Crowley had seemingly abandoned his nature and holy charge to literally wander in the desert. Aziraphale pulled out of the kiss, but Crowley pushed on and immediately began to nibble on his neck as he fumbled with the rough buttons on Aziraphale’s jacket. Aziraphale could feel his knees give way a little. Crowley really could be terribly distracting. He allowed himself just a moment of wanting him before he gripped Crowley’s arms and gently took a step back 

“What is it?” Crowley asked, still reaching for him. 

“We need to talk to Heylel,” Aziraphale said, with more determination than before. Crowley stopped swaying and dropped his hands to his side. Aziraphale was afraid this would happen. “I’m here to play by the rules, Crowley.”

“The rules. You mean their bloody rules,” he muttered, scooping up his own forgotten plastic cup and pouring himself a healthy amount of wine. He quickly drained it and grimaced. “What? You want to ask for heavenly permission to fuck?” 

“Crowley!” Aziraphale sputtered at his crasness.

“You certainly didn’t go through such formalities--”

“You were at least trying to get back into heaven then. Or I thought you were,” Aziraphale said, betraying the measure of distrust still between them. Crowley ripped his sunglasses off and stared hard at Aziraphale. The pupils of his snake eyes contracted into slits in anger. Crowley was a lot of things, but he wouldn’t actively lie to Aziraphale, ever. He had to know that. Anger moved the heat from between his legs into his chest. 

“I see, so if...being around me would keep you out of heaven…” Crowley asked and then just nodded. His slouch became more pronounced as the answer hung between them. Crowley could feel a wave of self pity begin to overtake him. He quickly drained his wine glass and reached for the bottle, upending it directly into his mouth. Aziraphale looked on disapprovingly. 

“I’ll never be good enough for them, you know. Why haven’t you figured that out yet?” he gasped after swallowing the wine. “After 6,000 years I only care about being good enough for you.”

“You’re not unforgivable Crowley. Heaven wants you back. Why is your heart so hard? If you don’t trust in god--”

“You’re bloody damn right I don’t!” Crowley shouted. “Why should I? She abandoned me. And in case you forgot Aziraphale, she abandoned you too!” They were both silent for a moment, gazing at each other from across a deepening rift. There was so much pain in Crowley’s eyes Aziraphale wished for a moment he’d put his glasses back on so he wouldn’t have to see it. He’d been able to bat away the selfish thoughts until Crowley came back. He had always had a gift of making everything both wonderful and complicated at the same time. 

“I’m not going to fight with you about this,” he said gently, trying to disarm him. He took a step forward but Crowley backed away, bumping into the desk.“You came here, knowing what I’m doing. I’m here to prove worthy of heaven.”

“But I...I just got you back,” he choked out. He hadn’t cried since the day his emotions first came roaring in, but he could feel the tears rising now. “She’s gonna tell you to get rid of me.” 

“You don’t know that.”

“I do,” Crowley said, deep in his misery. He slid his glasses back on and grabbed the wine bottle before heading for the door to the tent. “Call Heylel. Do what you have to. I’m going to get some air”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, his voice shaking. 

“I won’t leave. Not without saying goodbye,” he muttered before walking out into the night.


	7. Hostage to the devil

The camp was settling in for the night. Crowley gave the watchmen on duty the slip and headed into the open desert. The moon was still heavy in the sky. He had miles of empty wilderness to traverse and plenty of light to do it by. There was no destination, just walking. He had walked thousands of miles over the last few years. The quiet and loneliness were as close to peace as he could come without Aziraphale, but he knew this walk wouldn’t help things. He was deep in his misery and hopeless and there was no emerging. 

He quickly drained the wine bottle and launched it into the air, watching it sail through the empty desert and disappear on the horizon. He was only an hour into his walk when the temperature dropped. Crowley could see his breath, but it wasn’t just a fog. Suddenly the sand beneath his feet was crunching with ice crystals. He squeezed his eyes shut as the sudden cold pierced him. He didn’t want to see who was waiting for him in the moonlight. 

Out there, among the dunes, was a void in the shape of a person. It was so massive that light bent around it, so the outline of the void looked like it was made out of warped starlight. The Nothing was surrounded by thick sheets of ice that formed a perfect glass-like surface around where it stood. It seemed to be staring up at the night sky, brighter than itself by many magnitudes. 

Crowley always expected to feel awe, or fear or something when facing The Boss, but he felt nothing. That was the point. The closer you get to Lucifer the more of your whole being was siphoned off. Lucifer was a black hole of psychic energy, no light or feeling or thought or memory could escape his gravity. In his presence, the demon was made numb from the inside out. Crowley felt his anger and hurt and exhaustion with Aziraphale drop away. It felt almost good to feel nothing at all for the first time in years. Crowley’s separation from this source of nothingness is what drove all his emotions into high gear, and now, in its presence, they were all simply switched off, both reassuringly and disturbingly like his old self again. 

His halting steps carried him forward, even though he wanted nothing more than to run. He stopped at the edge of an ice sheet, about 20 feet away from the emptiness and sank to his knees; he was suddenly so exhausted that taking even another step was unthinkable

“Hello, brother,” Lucifer said. He still had a commanding voice that recalled when Crowley knew him when he was the brightest shining angel on high. He hadn’t seen him much since the fall, though. It wasn’t easy to get time with Lucifer. 

“Morning Star, my Lord,” Crowley said, his voice flat. He felt a pull towards the void but didn’t attempt to get up. His limbs weighed more every moment, pulling him down to the sand. 

“Such a beautiful place,” Lucifer said, his void arm gesturing towards the empty lifeless desert bathed in harsh white light. His voice was like the throaty purr of a lion, full of the confidence of the king of the jungle. 

“Yes, my Lord,” he said, more robotically than respectfully. 

“You’d like to stay here.”

“Yes, my Lord.” 

“Then stay.”

“My Lord?”

“Stay with us. I can give you anything you want in this world.” 

“I want?” Crowley responded, confused. The numbness was ringing in him now. He could taste the metallic flavor of ice on his tongue and crystals were forming on his eyelashes and in his hair. 

“What you desire,” Lucifer said. Crowley slowly began to grasp what he was saying. Suddenly his mind was filled with visions of Aziraphale, of all the moments they could have together. It was achingly beautiful and so real he thought they were memories for a moment. Even with his mind numb, however, he knew what Lucifer was doing. He was amazed by it, in fact. Wasn’t often you’d find a temptation demon being tempted. It seemed like an act of...desperation. Crowley wasn’t so far gone that he couldn’t see right through Lucifer. “Your angel is weak. We can take him. And he’ll be all for you.”

“He will...never turn,” Crowley said, unable to raise his voice above a mumble. Lucifer moved closer and Crowley moaned as the numbness turned painful. He hunched over and saw his fingertips turning black with frostbite. His joints ached. 

“With your help, he will. I have seen it.” 

“No, my Lord,” he said.

“What.”

“My lord. I won’t,” Crowley said through chattering teeth. He closed his eyes and they quickly froze shut, but he still hazarded a sardonic smile. “Aziraphale isn’t weak. He’s not ripe for temptation. 

“What do you mean Crawlie?” he asked. 

“It’s why you’re here, now. My lord,”

“I will not repeat this offer,” the images flashed through his mind again, their beauty was haunting. Suddenly they shifted to images of what would happen should he refuse. He saw Aziraphale’s death in hellfire, again and again, tortured and torn apart as he was unable to do anything about it. He reached down and squeezed sand through his frustrated fists, trying to warm his hands but it was no use. 

“I understand, my Lord,” he gasped out. 

“And your answer is…”

“No, my Lord,” they were the most difficult words he ever had to summon the courage to say. It was as if he had to force every moment of his mouth and diaphragm to create the words. 

Light suddenly seared so brightly it blinded him through his frozen shut eyelids. A sudden burst of pressure pushed him back, into the air and down hard into the broken rocks of the desert. He expected to be ended, there on the spot. But slowly, he became aware of the sand, still warm from the day's sunlight. The ice was gone, the void was gone. It was as if it never happened. 

His feelings all came flooding back just into his chest and limbs just in time for his phone to go off. Not just any phone. A large black one that found its way into his pockets, no matter how many times he tried to lose it, or throw it away. It was Heylel. 

It took twice as long for Crowley to drag himself back into camp. He was completely drained and needed to stop several times to simply catch his breath. Sitting in the low light of the tent was a glowing Aziraphale speaking with Heylel, looking particularly out of place in her smart gray London business suit. Last time they had seen each other, he had received a dressing down from Heylel for breaking the angel’s heart. She was obviously quite fond of Aziraphale, and on God’s side. As soon as she had mentioned the general place Aziraphale could be found he had walked away and ignored his phone. 

“Crowley, you are alive.”

“I’m sure you already knew that, love. Aziraphale,” Crowley nodded. “You look happy. Did heaven give you permission to stay up past midnight?”

“I know something just happened Crowley,” Heylel said, cutting off Aziraphale. “I was talking with Aziraphale when I got the message. High-level stuff. Hell says you denied it three times, so it is giving up on you.”

“Does that mean I can get rid of you as well?”

“Oh my, we are prickly aren’t we?”

“Heylel, I have a splitting, red wine-and-hell induced headache following yet another row with that one,” he swung his arm out and pointed at Aziraphale. “And with Lucifer him-fucking-self. Not to mention last time I saw you, you called me a notable coward, an infinite and endless liar, an hourly promise-breaker and the owner of not one good quality,” Crowley said. “So sorry, not feeling hospitable.” 

“That is...fair. Well, congratulations anyway. I’ll be in touch in a few days. Everyone upstairs is very impressed with both of you.”

“Goody gum drops. Everything hurts. I’m going to have a lie down in my shack.” 

“Ah, Crowley, wouldn’t you...rather stay here?” Aziraphale asked hopefully.

“For fuck’s sakes,” he said with a laugh, nearly doubling over. “No! Absolutely not, you stupid bloody...” Crowley tossed the door flap open as he was shaking his head. His laughter rang out as he walked out into the night and across the camp. Aziraphale frowned and turned to Heylel. 

“Oh...dear.” 

“Well at least you have a...nice tent to sleep alone in,” Heylel said with an awkward smile. “Ahem. Uh. Good to see you Aziraphale.”

“Sure,” he made a dissatisfied sound and watched Heylel disappear.


End file.
